Kara said, “Do architects snicker when you come to a meeting bearing a stack of magazines with little Post-it notes marking hundreds of pages?”

“It might scare him. But why even worry about that? I mean, he’s working for you, right?” I said.

She cocked her head and considered this for a second, and then smiled warmly. “Yeah. Why worry?”

“See, now I want to go with you,” I said. “But . . . no. This house is your deal.”

“I wouldn’t mind, but we both have plans, and like I said, you’ll have more fun than I will. I’m a little scared. This is a big deal,” she said.

“We’ll both be anxious. Come for dinner tomorrow and we’ll talk about our day.”

But after Kara left and Chablis sat on my lap, her eardrums no doubt stinging from Isis’s noise, I pondered this situation I’d walked into voluntarily. Despite telling myself that tomorrow’s visit to Woodcrest would resolve the problem, I understood that assuming something would be simple didn’t mean it would be.

Seven

Tom picked me up in his Prius about eleven the next morning. No way could we take my van. I was a marked woman in Woodcrest.

As I slid into the passenger seat, I still hadn’t put the wig on. I still hated it as much as I had the day before. Shawn owed me big-time after this.

“You look tired,” Tom said as we pulled out of my driveway.

“Did you know that goddesses are screeching, awful, spoiled creatures?” I said.

“What are you talking about?”

I explained about Isis on the way to Woodcrest. Tom was sympathetic about the hours of sleep I’d lost to the noise coming from my basement, but I had volunteered to help Shawn, and no good deed goes unpunished.